Horrendous Events
by E Salvatore
Summary: September has seen all possible futures, and in each one, Olivia Dunham must die. A short look at some of these possible futures. Round Four of my SWB Initiative. P/O implied.
1. Chapter 1

**HORRENDOUS EVENTS**

**September has seen all possible futures, and in each one, Olivia Dunham must die. A short look at some of these possible futures. Round Four of my SWB Initiative. **

* * *

**Horrendous Events**

**Chapter One**

* * *

He arrives as she is released and lands on the ground in a mangled heap. The Boy comes to his senses after a brief coma due to their linked psych and immediately rushes to her side.

It has started.

"Olivia?"

"Liv?"

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

The Boy gathers Olivia's prone form into his trembling arms and holds her close, smoothing down her hair in a soothing act of comfort. She does not speak – she cannot, not after what she has just done, but focuses on drawing oxygen into her damaged lungs and fights to keep the grimace of her face each time she inhales. He sees it all. So does The Boy.

The Machine, as they have grown accustomed to calling it, looms in the background of this horrendous scene.

He knows it is horrendous even though no one else does yet. After all, it is why he is here: to witness something horrendous. How very odd that this horrendous event threatens to sadden his indifferent self.

He remains hidden in the shadows; it is time for him to merely observe. He must not alter this one course.

"Olivia? 'Livia, please – not like this. You promised me. You _promised_. You promised our d-" The Boy – Peter Bishop, who is a boy no more – is crying now, something September has not seen him do since childhood. But the _horrendous _thing that is happening is reason enough to cry, even for a grown man.

"Peter…" A faint whisper escapes Olivia, the one he is here to watch. She is pale and weak; putting two universes back together is quite a feat and has obviously drained her – has obviously led to this horrendous event he is now witnessing. It is his fault. It is his people's fault.

But there is nothing left to be done, not anymore. There is only an observation to be made.

"Liv, please, you have to come back to me. You can do this." Peter Bishop holds his dying wife and does not let go; watches as she struggles to do the simplest of tasks – breathe. He is helpless as she lies dying. Peter Bishop does not like being helpless – September knows this. And in this one moment, he can empathize.

He holds her close, and does not let go, not even when the little girl, with her fair hair and twinkling eyes so much like her mother's, comes rushing in.

"Mommy!"

Olivia Dunham is truly a remarkable person – remarkably strong-willed. It is this strong will, the very one September has observed for years now, that allows her to inhale and find it in her broken self to comfort her daughter, a mere child of four years.

"Hey, baby girl."

Her father does not let go but the one they call Etta climbs into his lap, a safe haven from monsters and bad people and reality. And when she hears her mother utter those few words, she starts crying.

"I love you. Both of you."

"So… much."

"I love you too, Mommy." She hiccups out the words, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and this is the truly horrendous part because the Observer has watched this girl for her entire life and to know that this is the beginning of the end for her – and thus, for everything - is a sort of sorrow to him; an alien pain.

"I love you, Olivia. _Always_." The Boy – he will always be The Boy – lightly brushes his beloved's bloodied hair back from her face to look into her eyes, with their fading twinkle, one last time. Her lips quirk up in a familiar smile, one that September himself has been on the receiving end of, on precious few occasions. Peter lightly presses his own to her smiling ones and carefully, cautiously, rests his forehead against hers. It is a nice moment before the storm; one to carry when the aftermath inevitably starts.

And then Olivia Dunham, savior of universes, is no more.

And in that one moment before the little girl flings herself into her mother's limp arms, before grief threatens to consume her and her father and her world for months, she breaks and turns into something no one will ever understand.

Etta grows up in that one moment when pain and anger and a need for revenge flash simultaneously in her eyes, and she is her mother's child, there is no doubt.

It is… an important event.

But no less horrendous.

He will miss her, he supposes.

His friend, Olivia.

* * *

**I have no idea where that came from.**

**Blame the bunnies.**

**I think we're in for maybe two, three more chapters after this. Maybe I'll go up to five. But that's the maximum. They should be quick – I'm not particularly fond of long, drawn-out death scenes, you see. The tears start coming around the five-hundred-word mark, usually. So these shouldn't take long.**

**Plus, I'd like to get these up before the two-part SEASON (not SERIES, and yes, I will keep stressing that – Season 5, Fringies!) finale starts and this goes completely AU and irrelevant.**

**Well, that went well, as far as angsty 'back to fandom' pieces go… I suppose. See you all around. Remember: reviews are better than a box of Kleenex. And don't forget to check out the SWBI and some upcoming pieces for this round. More information on the SWBI itself can be found below.**

**Thank you for reading, everyone, and I promise: this has a happy ending, as unlikely as it seems.**

_**E Salvatore, **_

_**May 2012.**_

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**The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Horrendous Events**

**Chapter Two**

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"Mommy! Mommy, look!"

It is a sunny day in July and young Henrietta is due for a birthday any day now. Being the unique child that September has always known her to be, she wants nothing more than a day in the park with her family.

It is the worst thing she could have asked for.

Lurking in the shadows, undetected, stands September. A little worn, a little more… human, and emotional, and grief-stricken.

It is true that he has seen every single one of these scenarios; has observed what required observation, but he owes it to his friends - his good friends and allies – to observe one more time. Olivia Dunham must die, that is true, but there must be something that he has missed.

So he observes it all, again. And again. And again. And one must not forget that deep down, he was once a human, too. One who felt a great deal of complex emotions and pain.

It does not matter now.

"Oh, sweetie! That's beautiful!" Olivia enthuses, making a big show of examining the daisy bracelet her daughter has woven. It is quite pretty, September observes; proof of the child's remarkable intellect. Certainly not something he would have made, though given enough time to study this sample, he would probably be capable of reproducing a similar model.

"It's for you, Mommy." Etta holds out her creation in her palm with a generous smile.

"Oh, thank you, baby girl. Do you wanna help me put it on?" The blonde child nods her head and accepts her mother's outstretched arm, a small frown of concentration adorning her face as she works to slip the bracelet in without tearing the delicate stems. When she's done, Olivia picks her tiny daughter up and rests her on her hip, a bright smile on her face.

"Let's go show Daddy, yeah?"

Etta nods enthusiastically, her little ringlets swinging wildly.

September experiences a strange sensation, as if his abdominal organs had suddenly shifted… or dropped. He believes humans call it… dread.

It starts now.

A bullet rips through the air, too far for even Olivia's sensitive senses to pick up on. But the Observer's enhanced ones do, and it takes every bit of self-control to keep himself in the shadows and not rush out to help his old companion, Dr. Bishop, as the bullet lodges itself in his brain, killing him immediately.

"'Livia!" The Boy is in panic. He has heard the bullet, but has yet to see it. His first instinct is to check on his wife and daughter. He will regret it the moment his eyes fall upon his dead father.

Not for long, though.

September stands, helpless, unable to do anything but watch – sometimes, it is a curse. He watches as Olivia and Peter huddle closer together to keep little Etta from seeing the horrible sight of her Grandpa Walter. They each press a kiss to her temple and whisper soothing words and terms of endearment into her ears.

Peter Bishop tells his daughter he loves her, and then with one final kiss, is off to secure their weapons. Olivia holds her child and instructs her to remain as silent as possible. A hidden panel opens to a hiding space that anyone would have trouble locating. Etta will take care of herself; she knows what to do. And someone is bound to check on them if anything happens. Astrid will be contacted. She will know what to do. September knows the plan.

"I love you, baby girl. Mommy and Daddy love you very much." Olivia smiles bravely for her child and raises her hand to brush away a stray lock of hair. The daisy petals tickle Etta's round cheek – she fights a smile - but she remains still.

"I love you, Mommy." She whispers.

"I love you."

When she can stall no more, Olivia lets go of her daughter and hides her away from the world. Peter comes back then, weapons in hand. She takes two seconds to wrap her arms around her husband and even though September, with his enhanced hearing, misses their hushed exchange, he knows them well enough to get the gist of it.

They love each other very, very much.

Always will.

And then they are stalking down hallways and corridors, weapons drawn, senses alert. Three of the culprits appear – humans, just like them – and The Boy quickly puts multiple bullets in each of their chests. It is unnecessary, but satisfying for him, the child who has not yet worked through the shock of losing his father and being put in a situation where he could stand to lose everyone.

Olivia rushes to Peter's side – the sound of guns being shot worried her – and together they seek out more predators.

Turn a corner. Shoot. Turn a corner. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

Again.

They make a good team.

Until The Boy turns a corner and is shot down.

"Peter!"

The Observer himself, who has seen this scenario play out countless times, fights… something. Some sort of reaction. Emotional, probably.

He does not require an emotional reaction.

He must observe.

Peter Bishop, ever the protector, gets two shots into his assailant even as his wife falls to the ground with him, hands hovering, eyes unsure.

"Sweetheart, look out for yourself. Don't waste your time. I'll be fine."

But he won't be. Olivia knows. September knows. Peter knows. He focuses all of his strength on raising an arm to cup her cheek. "I love you."

Olivia whispers something back; September is glad that he does not catch it – this is _their _moment.

And then it is over. The Boy, the one he has spent years keeping alive, is gone.

And Olivia Dunham is angrier than he's ever seen her. The wild hurt and pain in her eyes translate to nothing but sheer power in her Cortexiphan-positive blood.

Her husband's murderer staggers out into view, bright red stains blooming on his crisp shirt. His jacket is in place and will be stained with blood in approximately fourteen seconds. His fedora, one just like September's, is absent.

December always has his hat on.

"You." Olivia growls and stalks closer. December remains worryingly calm.

"Hello, Olivia. So we meet again."

"I will kill you, you son of a bitch."

"Not without killing yourself, I'm afraid."

September sees the conflict immediately: Olivia cannot die. Death would be easier, true, but she has a daughter. One who has just lost a father. She cannot leave her motherless, too.

She must live, for Etta.

She must live.

She must.

And then December kills her.

"Goodbye, Olivia."

It is a single shoot, to her head. She never even sees it coming; doesn't have time to fear for Etta, or Astrid, or the world.

She is with Peter now.

December dusts off his jacket and picks up his fedora from a spot on the ground; fixes it on his head. And then he heads off to find the child – the one he is here for.

September raises his own weapon.

Not Etta.

Not after Walter, Peter and Olivia.

Not Henrietta.

The Observer takes a deep breath, not sure if it is necessary.

And then he shoots his former mentor.

It doesn't change anything, not anymore.

But at least Etta will live.

That is what Peter and Olivia wanted.

Before they died.

* * *

**Okay, only one more chapter left. I didn't see the need to drag it out. We've had one sad death, and this… straight-forward, bam-bam-bam death. Now comes the last chapter. Just wait for it…**

**This is mainly in September's P.O.V (kinda), simply because it works for me and the story. But I've also tried to make it seem reasonable. Sure, you might think he has a little too much insight into everything and that it seems more third-person sometimes, but remember: he's September. The guy who reads your mind. I hope that makes sense. And I have tried to work in details that he would probably know, and subtle explanations as to how he knows all of this.**

**Once again, reviews are much appreciated. Did you know this is the first thing I've written so far this year? Well, written and uploaded. I'd love to hear from you guys again. It's been a while… Christmas, was it? That was the last Fringe fic before this one. Speaking of which: keep your eyes peeled for a prequel and sequel. They are both very real possibilities.**

**So, please review and let me know your thoughts. And don't forget to check out the SWBI. I'm thinking we might have another Fringe story or two for this round.**

_**E Salvatore,**_

_**May 2012.**_

* * *

**The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Horrendous Events**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

September has now witnessed Olivia Dunham's death two-hundred-seventy-seven times; Peter Bishop's one-hundred-and-four; Walter Bishop's seventy-two times.

And he has seen young Henrietta die eighteen times.

It is too much, even for an Observer who has witnessed countless wars.

* * *

He is 'out of it', as he has heard the Bishops say many times. His concentration, his senses, his direction… it is all _off_.

But he is not finished yet. There are more futures, more dimensions, and more possibilities to explore. So he goes on.

* * *

When he arrives in the next dimension, the first thing that he notices is that he is somewhere else.

Well, the first thing that he notices, in all honesty, is the usual dazed feeling he gets whenever travelling through time and space. After he shakes that off, though, September comes to realize that he is somewhere he has never been. Some _time _he has never been to.

But he has been everywhere. At all times.

Dusting off his hat and replacing it on his head, he takes in the house in front of him. It bears many similarities to Dr. Bishop's residence with his son, but it is not the same building.

Rapid calculations in his mind – accurate calculations – reveal to him that the year is 2061. But it cannot possibly be right because it looks like most of the 2015s that he has been to. There are some noticeable advancements, but not that many.

Another look around and September understands: humanity has stopped moving forward in order to secure their present. It is a sustainable community with all the comforts of relatively-modern life powered by renewable energy, an experimental power source at best which limits the advancement of many fields.

But this does not matter; locating the Bishops and their daughter is what matters.

That house… it is too familiar.

September approaches the house. There is an open window and an elderly woman stares longingly out through it, her thin frame resting against a headboard.

She looks familiar too, this woman. Her hair is no longer colored, and her skin has folded into itself, but her eyes… her eyes have not changed. It is…

"Olivia?"

Her eyes turn alert at the sound of her name. September steps into her line of vision, coming to a stop outside the window. Olivia – it must be her – smiles.

"Hello, September. I knew you would come to visit me first, before I leave."

He tilts his head slightly – a question. "You are leaving?"

She laughs lightly. "Just like you told me I would, all those years ago. It's happening. Peter won't face it, of course, but I've told him not to be greedy. We've already had more years than any of us would've expected. More than you expected."

"I? What did I expect?" He thinks maybe this is how they – his Bishops – feel all the time when he is being particularly… Observer-y, as Dr. Bishop had called it. But he must know more. He must keep asking questions until he understands.

"You gave me a real scare, I'll admit, when you came to me that night at the opera house just to tell me that my death was inevitable. And for a long time after that, I was all too willing to play martyr for any somewhat worthy cause just because I thought that I was supposed to."

"Supposed to?"

"Supposed to die. Because you told me so. It took me the longest time to figure out that… everyone dies, September. You saw my death in all possible futures because I would have to die at some point. But you didn't factor in dying of old age. It drove me crazy, I'll tell you."

"I… apologize."

"It's alright." Olivia laughs again. Her laugh has not changed. He thinks it is comforting. It convinces him that she is the same Olivia – the one he' seen die two-hundred-seventy-seven times.

"I was right, then? But wrong?"

"Yes, September. You were right but wrong. You were right: I'll die in all possible futures because that's the only end. But you didn't realize that this was a possibility."

"A possibility."

His friend, that Olivia – she will grow old like this. Now he understands. This is a possible future. In which she must die.

But it is a happy death.

"I should go now." He says suddenly. "Olivia will want to hear of this, I am sure."

"Go ahead," This Olivia smiles. "I won't really believe you for a while, but it'll help a lot."

"You will not believe me?"

"Not at first."

"Why?"

"Because, September. Now, off with you. Goodbye, September."

"Goodbye, Olivia. Thank you… for being my friend."

She smiles, then, a soft smile he hasn't seen in a while.

"You're welcome."

He sees The Boy just as he leaves.

"'Livia? Who were you talking to?"

"An old friend, Peter."

September smiles as he is ripped through the time/space-continuum.

* * *

Later that night, he is back outside the window.

He couldn't resist seeing this… happy death himself.

Olivia is in her bed, just like she was this afternoon, but she has lost the color in her face and the twinkle in her eyes is dimming. Peter rests next to her, holding her close.

Their children and grand-children surround them. There is Etta, matured and aging, with children of her own. There is another girl – Elizabeth, he overhears – who has his hair and his eyes. And then there is the boy, a perfect mix of the both of them.

Henry.

He was meant to be all along. Only in the right universe.

The Observer stands outside that window all night long, watching as the family trades stories and memories and promises. There are tears, but there is also laughter.

Somehow, that makes it okay.

And when Olivia finally, finally closes her eyes after sharing one last goodbye with her family and the love of her life, September smiles even as a foreign sensation hits him.

There are tears in his eyes.

It is odd.

Peter covers her up with the blanket one of their grandchildren made for them. Etta, the leader, makes sure everyone gets a moment with their matriarch before ushering them out. One last squeeze of her mother's hand and an 'I love you, Mom' and she's gone, too, giving Peter the space with Olivia that he desperately needs.

The Boy brushes some hair out of Olivia's face, lightly runs his hand over her closed eyelids. When he starts crying, it is a slow type of crying, tears that he sheds with equal measures of sorrow and hope for the future.

It is a beautiful scene.

And it is, by far, September's favorite future.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**Well, that's that. I don't know what to think, actually. I decided to push myself back into the fandom, posted a surprise announcement about the SWBI on Tumblr and wrote this, start to finish, in one sitting, in ninety minutes. I haven't stopped since the first time I typed out the title.**

**It's been a wonderful experience for me, and though I can tell even now that this isn't one of my finer works… I think I'm developing a soft spot for it already. Thank you to everyone who read this - you don't know how much it means to me, especially after the extended hiatus I was on these past few months.**

**Thank you, everyone. I've really missed you people. And… I'll see you around, I suppose.**

**(P.S: one last round of reviews wouldn't hurt, yeah? But honestly, I would like to know what you guys think about this chapter. It's very much unlike the previous two, and that would usually bug my one-format-per-story self, but I find myself pretty happy with this.)**

**Enough rambling. Enjoy your weekend, wherever you may be!**

_**E Salvatore,**_

_**May 2012.**_

* * *

**The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!**


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